Like Dancing Chairs…

I had gone through this route before. Countless times, but today I connected with it all.

When the traffic lights turned red they marched in a procession toward the shiniest cars. It was like a game of dancing chairs- who could get the most money before the lights turned green. Except this was not a game, it was a fight for survival.

The little ones, bare feet and unassuming moved through traffic quickly trying to reach as many cars as possible. I was sure they were timing themselves- 15 seconds, or less if the driver was ignoring them.

The disabled were there too, plenty. Few on wheelchairs, many with long walking sticks while double amputees were on make shift ‘planks-on-wheels’. The latter had it hardest, rolling their way through traffic to salon cars, avoiding the 4 Wheel Drives- too high to get any attention- only the very ambitious  bothered.

I saw the able bodied- mostly young men, with worn out glass cleaning wipers and Eva bottles filled with green foamy liquid. Though fewer in number, these ones I could tell pride themselves in their ‘service’. They were in search of ‘dirty windscreens’ and of course spare change. In spite of it all they were no different from the others they ignored the dirty commercial buses and taxis favouring only the shiny cars.

The clock was ticking; the lights would change in no time. The little ones had just about gone to all the cars, while the adults played catch up.

 In this race, this fight for survival they had to contend with the vendors. They were the undeniable winners of attention, with many more willing to trade than empathise.

The vendors were more than them- men, women, children hawking  plantain chips, biscuits, mints, garden eggs, books, drinks, yogurts, inflatable beds, teddy bears, handkerchiefs, tissues, stationary. There was an endless stream of them; all moving fast only stopping when there was interest. They were attentive and ready to jump off the road when the lights turned green.

Just as with dancing chairs, the music stopped, the lights turned green and everyone ran to  the kerb, the disabled first, the traders last- always trying to hold up traffic.

For everyone it was a two minute hustle on repeat every six minutes when the lights turned red again and every participant was ready to try their shot at this hustle till the night came when the grid-lock began and they were more cars to visit.

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Time will tell

Tick tock tick tock.

Seconds turn into minutes,

Minutes into hours,

Hours into days.

Waiting- Just waiting for inspiration.

Waiting for the motivation.

Waiting for the kick.

It is hot and humid, my brain is fried.

I must meet the deadline, so I try. 

First draft, not good enough,

Second, too quirky,

Third… May be I’m not that blocked.

I’m going to write about this. Write about now. Write about how I feel.

Write about how hard it is to write when you’re time bound. 

Pour out my thoughts just hoping for some order. 

Waiting, believing my writer’s block will be over. 

But with things like this I know; only Time will tell

Watching the Night sky

I’v never seen the sky so dark and bright.
A new day was set to start, but the night battled with the day
The wind was cool and breezy, I felt quite sleepy.
Gathered in the field we knew we had to stay awake
I saw at one end of the sky a bright light streaming from a massive object. The light came down in streaks like a space ship on a search for earthlings. I wasn’t asleep.
I could hear the commandant yelling at the distance. But all I could see was the space ship lightening the night sky.
As it descended to the field I could hear its engines, at that point I realised it was an aeroplane.
The band started playing. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the approaching aeroplane, in a squint i attempted to read the name of the airline. It was a Virgin Atlantic aircraft. It was beautiful watching it descend. Till it finally disappeared!

We Had nothing

No stars in sight,

We knew the dawn was near,

The wet grass, the thick fog, the noisy toads,

We also knew fear,

Howls, barks, rods.

The race toward the light,

Still eyes pinned to the beam,

Silence masked breathing,

The wait.

The struggle and fight,

The want for one thing.

Our light is deem,

Farther than ever now.

It is leaving without us.

It disappears .

We had nothing.